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As if the photograph of his family calls to me, I turn my attention to it. I stand and walk to the bookshelf where it sits. Yesterday, I could barely make out the figures. Now is my chance to really look.
If I had known I was going to end up here, maybe I would have studied up more on the Maxton family. But as I didn’t have any notion that my future included an indenture to Arran, I have only the random rumors and news stories I’ve heard and can remember.
There is Clive with his arm around a much younger woman. One of his ex-wives whose name would have eluded me even if he didn’t have like ten of them. From what I understand, one of his favorite pastimes was marrying beautiful women several years younger than himself.
A foot away from him is Landon, the eldest of the Maxton children. He resembles Arran, physically, at least. Same height, blond hair, blue eyes. But there’s an edge to Arran that’s missing in Landon. His gaze isn’t as intense, his jawline is much softer, and he doesn’t have that perpetual scowl that’s on Arran’s face even when he’s laughing.
That’s because he’s never laughing in amusement, I remind myself. Only out of sarcasm.
On the other side of Clive is Arran, his arm protectively around Catherine’s shoulders. I stare into her delicate face. She also looks like Arran, same coloring. But there’s a sweetness to her that shines through.
I wonder how old she was when this picture was taken. When she died, I recall the news saying she was twenty-five. Then I wonder how old Arran is. Thirty? Thirty-two?
They must have been close, not in age necessarily, but as siblings. Although I must admit it’s hard to imagine a man like him ever being close to someone. But their body language says otherwise. She was his little sister.
I think of Maisie and what I would do to prevent anyone from hurting her. What I’d do if they did. The truth is, I wouldn’t have the restraint Arran has. I’d go batshit crazy and kill whoever was responsible. Even though I’m not a violent person and really have no idea how I’d go about it, I wouldn’t rest until I saw them dead and buried.
But would I go after that person’s family?
“Hello.”
“Jesus!” Startled, I jump away from the bookshelf at the same time as I whirl to the sound of the male voice behind me. For a split second, I mistake him for Arran. However, I quickly realize that the man standing at the doorway isn’t Arran, but his brother.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he says. His blue eyes, so much like Arran’s in color, might lack the intensity of his stare but make up for it in interest. He takes me in, from head to bare toes, pausing at my breasts, and smiles. “I’m Landon. And you must be Imogen?”
Aware that my braless chest is outlined too well by the white T-shirt, I snatch my arms over my breasts uncomfortably. His smile broadens and confirms that, indeed, he saw more than I wanted him to.
“Arran didn’t tell me anyone would be stopping by,” I say.
Landon moves into the study, his gait casual as he comes closer. “That’s probably because I didn’t tell him I was coming. Thought I’d just pop in and say hi. Meet you in person.”
“Meetme?” My heart rate increases. Something in his tone and the keen twinkle in his gaze has me raising my guard instantly. Though he doesn’t seem like a threat, I’m not taking any chances. Nonchalantly, I step behind the desk, pretending to straighten the few items on it.
His eyes follow. “I heard you were at Asta last night.”
“There were a lot of us at Asta.”
“But only one daughter of a certain Judge Thomas Cameron, may he rest in peace.” He narrows his gaze, then he scratches his chin as he ponders me. “I was asking myself why Arran bought you. Especially given our…diceyhistory with Thomas.”
Shit. Shit. Shit! He knows who I am. And if Arran blames my father for Catherine’s death, I’m sure Landon does too.
“Arran should be back any minute,” I say, extremely uneasy now. “You can ask him why he bought my contract.”
“I don’t have to ask. I can see why he did.” There’s no mistaking his salacious stare for anything else. “Tell me about the contract. How long will you be here?”
“A while,” I reply, watching as he goes to a cabinet.
He opens it to display several rows of liquor bottles. “Let’s see what new drinks he’s acquired. Ah, this one.” Taking a whiskey, he pours some into a highball glass and sips. “There’s no denying my little brother has good taste. I sample his things from time to time, see if there’s anything I want for myself.”
“Does he know that? Arran told me he doesn’t like to share.” I step out of from behind the safety of the desk and move closer to the door.
Landon turns to me and seems amused by my question. “Well, I won’t tell him if you won’t.” He takes a step toward me, and I take one back.
Giving him as pleasant a smile as I can muster, I say, “Why don’t you wait here for him. I’m sure he won’t be long. I have to go get changed.”
I don’t get to the door before his hand clamps around my arm and pulls me back. He pushes me against the wall, one of his long legs between mine. I try to shove him away, but he’s like a brick wall in front of me.
“Fuck, you’re pretty,” he whispers hoarsely. Then he leans in and presses his nose to my hair. “You smell fucking good. So fucking good.”
